


No Honour in Survival

by PenGirlFics



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: AU, Abuse, Aged up characters, Child Abuse, EST, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Force Feeding, Homophobia, Homophobic Slurs, Human Trafficking, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Rape/non-con implied, Slave/Master, Suicidal Thoughts, Swearing, Violence, electro shock therapy, idk i'll add tags as i go along, otabek altin is 22, otabek is a little bit off character, slave/master dynamics, this is new to me im so sorry, yuri has a vulgar mouth, yuri plisetsky is 19
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-02-16
Updated: 2018-09-17
Packaged: 2018-09-24 21:50:03
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 4
Words: 13,994
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9788651
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PenGirlFics/pseuds/PenGirlFics
Summary: Yuri Plisestky has lived with the world against him for as long as he can clearly recall. After being taken to potentially the most dangerous place for someone like him is it possible he will be saved?AKA; Yuri has had a tough life, and really, ain't no letting up on him. Though, he does make some friends in hell.





	1. Yuri

**Author's Note:**

> Sorry i'm new to this. Like, this is my first fic. Also, I kind of made up Otabek's dad, and he's kinda a tosser. Also, JJ starts off as a jerk, but i don't hate him completely, so. This started in one direction, but then I changed my mind and it ended up whatever it is. I'll update whenever I can. If I forget to update feel free to spam my emails, assuming people are actually gonna read it.

It’s cold. It’s cold and dark. No, not dark, dull. It’s dull. Or perhaps it’s not. Perhaps it’s the same as every other day, and I’m cold. I’m cold and dull. Not dull as in boring, no. I’m numb. Why can’t I feel? Though, isn’t this better? Feeling nothing? At least this way I can’t feel the heaviness that’s set itself upon my chest, or the fatigue tugging at my eyelids. In this numb state I can’t feel my hands drying out, there is no sign of the burn of my tears. I cannot feel my body against the cold grey concrete. I cannot feel the chill of the rain falling against my dirt stained skin. I cannot feel anything. So long as I feel nothing, I think I may be able to survive.

I always knew the day would come, as soon as I turned of age, that I’d be forced out of my own home. Driven away by the people who were supposed to hold me close. I’ve known for the longest of times, that a day would come and I would be taken out with the garbage and left on the side of the road. The only difference between me and the garbage is that someone was coming for the garbage, it had somewhere to go. I always knew, as long as I can remember.

‘He’s not like the other kids.’ My father would tell my mother.

‘But he’s our son.’ She’d sound so _desperate_.

‘We have a duty.’

‘To who?’ She’d sob.

‘To our lord.’

‘What about our duty as parents? Our duty to protect our son.’

‘If things were _different_.’ And then my father would pause, like his voice was caught in his throat, ‘If _he_ were different. If he could _just change._ ’

Those words never really left me, I suppose. _Just change_. I cried the first time I heard them talking about it, sobbed to my mother. Weak and desperate, like a small child. I pleaded with her, ‘How do I change, mama? I’ll be a good kid.’ She’d flat the hair atop my head and plant a kiss, she’d tell me I needn’t change. She’d tell me I wasn’t the one who needed to change, yet here I am sat against a building in the city, crying, and struggling for breath, dehydrated and hungry. Weak and desperate, like a small child.

I watch as people pass by me, avoiding looking me in the eyes, lifting their collars to hide their faces. It’s so much easier to look beyond an issue than it is to acknowledge it. So simple to ignore the pain of others. Perhaps if it weren’t branded on my skin it would be okay, I would be able to find a home, get a job, to speak to people. If I could hide it perhaps I wouldn’t have to run away, wouldn’t have to avoid areas of town. Not that it helps. They still come. They _always_ come. Always in groups of at least three. Always tall with dark hair and broad shoulders. They have marks too, on their arms and legs, tattoos. That one identifiable symbol; a sun and a moon connected by black dots in a circle. They keep the world in order, or so they say. It’s kind of pretentious really, that they call themselves the Order, as if the world would dissolve to chaos without them. All they really do is come along and force people like me into hiding, I’m one of the lucky few. I’m still alive. I’ve managed time and time again to get away, to hide. When they do catch people like me, they start beating us. They don’t often stop.

I blame my father for the few times I’ve been beaten; the only way they know who we are is by the tattoo we are forced to get if we are discovered, and of course, my father got me the mark on my sixteenth birthday. Three years ago. I was kicked out a year after, on my seventeenth birthday, the shame of having a son like me was too much.

It’s nights like these that make me wonder whether life is worth it at all. Nights where I can see the flashing of their lights, I can hear their sirens wailing in the near distance. The hairs on the back of my neck are surely standing, my arms and legs are covered in goose bumps.

‘Found one!’ I look to my left; I’ve been so focused on the sirens in front of me I didn’t notice one of them coming towards me.

I grab my bag and begin running down the street I came. I can’t run very fast, my long hair keeps whipping me in my face, my body is aching. Not to mention, I haven’t eaten a proper meal in weeks, slept in days. I can hear the sirens getting closer, the street lights up around me just a little bit. I can hear the sound of laughter and people running. My heart beat is racing and I’m not sure I can afford for it to. My legs are aching and I’m out of breath, but they’re not. They’re still running, towards me.

It’s nights like these that make me wonder whether life is worth it at all. It would be so much easier to give in, to drop to my knees and to allow them to take me. What’s the point in running if I’m just going to have to run again?

I begin slowing down as I turn the corner. Perhaps there’s a crevice I can hide in. Doubt it. I lean my hand against the wall and pull myself along. They’re almost here. I slowly fall to my knees, my hand dragging against the wall. I turn to look at the road I turned off of and see them coming from it. Coming towards me. Laughing and smashing things. Teeth bared and frightening. I close my eyes.

‘We got him, boys!’ His voice is rough. His breath smells of alcohol.

Another man gently grabs my hair, allowing it to fall from his hand, ‘What a catch!’

‘The boss will be pleased with this one.’ A third man cackles.

The grip on my hair becomes tighter as someone begins to drag me. I keep my eyes closed. I can feel tears burning my cheeks. How I’d give for that blissful numbness I had experienced earlier. I’m thrown in the back of the black van. Some other men are in here, all with the same marks as me. One of them is covered in blood. His leg has been snapped in half. He must have fought. Idiot.

* * *

‘Bring in the next one.’ A tall man covered in scars pushes me towards the larger man sitting in the chair. The tall man leaves the room. The only people remaining are myself, the fat man in the chair and a man stood beside him, slightly behind. My eyes drift to the man behind the fat man. He is tall as well, with broad shoulders and muscles. He has an undercut, a short dark brown mess of hair brushed back with his fingers on top his head. His jaw is well sculpted, much like every other part of him. His face appears stoic as he looks forward, almost as though he is paying no attention to me, or to the man in the chair.

‘Boy, we’ve not met before.’ His voice draws at the end of his words, almost like he’s struggling to get them out because he’s so unfit, ‘So you don’t know how this goes.’

The handsome boy behind him smirks down at me.

‘If you don’t know me, but who doesn’t know me,’ the man begins mumbling to himself before clearing his throat, ‘my name is Alarish Altin.’

 _Alarish Altin?_ Alarish Altin the head of the Order? Alarish Altin, the man who gets rid of people like me? I’ve heard that if you’re brought to Alarish your fate is even worse than those who get beaten to death by the foot soldiers. I feel a knot form at the base of my throat preventing me from breathing.

‘You’re a pretty one, I’m surprised they didn’t bring you to me sooner.’ He clears his throat and leans back in his chair, which is honestly more like a throne than anything else. ‘So, my men are going to take you and prepare you for sale.’ _Sale?_ ‘It’ll be less painful if you just accept it. I don’t like to sell damaged goods; they pull in a far lower price.’ He licks his bottom lip. ‘I can’t imagine you’ll be too much trouble for my boys.’

The boy whose face had remained the same for the entirety of the minutes steps forward, ‘Excuse me, Sir.’

Alarish looks to the side, incapable of looking over his shoulder due to his sheer size, ‘What is it, son?’ _Son?_

His face was still emotionless and hard to read, ‘May I take this one?’

I stare up at the man, then to Alarish, who is also staring at the man, ‘Pardon?’

‘I’d like him, if that’s okay, Father.’

Alarish begins to laugh, his laugh is heavy and deep and coated with malice, ‘My son, you may have whatever you desire.’ Alarish gestures for me to go towards him. ‘It looks as though you belong to my son now, boy.’

I look over at the man whose face still hasn’t changed, impossible to fucking read. ‘I shall take him now.’

The man comes towards me, grabbing the rope attached to my wrists, and begins pulling me towards a large wooden door. I follow behind him, my legs are weak, it’s hard to keep up. This mansion, it truly is a mansion, is full of halls and rooms, all different yet somehow similar. I refuse to allow my mind to wander, focusing instead on my surroundings, searching desperately for a place to get out. I refuse to think about what may or may not happen to me, _ignorance is bliss._ The numbness I had become accustomed to for the past two years would be a welcome feeling at this point. If I could ignore the lag in the movement of my body, the burn of the ropes rubbing against my wrists. If I was a stronger person I’m sure the tightness in my chest and the bloating in my stomach wouldn’t affect me. But I am not stronger, I am hardly strong at all.

It feels as though we’ve been walking for an hour, though I doubt that’s true. The man in front of me hasn’t spoken once, just walked assuming I’m following him. Occasionally he’ll look behind him, probably to ensure I haven’t attempted to escape. He opens a door identical to the twenty others in this wing of the house. We enter a bedroom, though it’s more than that. There’s a kitchen area in one of the corners, and a door leading, presumably, to a bathroom. Living quarters. It’s fairly large, a king size bed in the corner opposite the cooking areas. A television set, games, radio, all things typically found in a teenage boy’s room. _How old is he?_ He waits for me to venture further into the room before he shuts and locks the door. I’d talk, ask about him, about this place, about what’s going to happen to me, but I’ve learnt that people like me shan’t talk unless spoken to.

He walks over to a couch against the wall beside the cooking areas facing the TV that takes up half a wall. He looks over to me, then back to the TV which he now has on. After a few minutes of his show, and me standing uncomfortably in the centre of his room, he speaks, ‘Are you going to sit?’

He isn’t looking at me, so I walk over to the couch and sit to his side, leaving a cushion between us. He moves closer to me, he reaches his hands behind my back and unties the rope. He throws the rope beside the bed, then turns back and watches the television. We sat in that silence for a few hours, it was the first time in years I’d been allowed the comfort of a roof and television. It was the first time I’d sat against something other than cold concrete.

‘Are you hungry?’ His voice is unwavering.

I nod.

‘Thirsty?’

I nod again.

‘Not one for talking?’ The shadow of a smile crosses his lips.

‘Am I allowed?’ It comes out as a whisper, unintentionally.

‘When you’re with me.’ He places two bowls of spaghetti Bolognese on the table, followed by two cups and a jug of ice water. ‘It’s best you don’t speak when you’re alone or around the other house guests.’ He sits down across from me, looking down at his bowl, his face hardly moves but I can tell he’s deep in thought. ‘When we are around other house guests, if you do need to address me, you should probably call me,’ his throat bobs as he swallows, ‘When, if we’re around other people, you need to address me as your master.’

He looks up at me, expectant of a response. I nod. _My master? Fuck off._

His phone causes the table to vibrate, he looks down at it. ‘If you ever... when you leave the room, you’ll need to wear a collar.’ His voice seems softer than before, almost sorrow filled, ‘I’ll put on your collar that you belong to me,’ he winces, ‘hopefully then they’ll leave you alone.’ He looks back at me from his phone, ‘do you have any questions?’

I shrug. I’m a fucking slave. _A pet._ God, I’d do anything to be numb again. To not feel the sting of tears forming in my eyes. _Go away._

‘I have no intention of hurting you, honestly.’ He begins spinning his fork in the spaghetti and brings it towards his mouth.

‘What’s your name?’ Another whisper.

‘Otabek.’ He swallows, ‘You?’

‘Yuri.’ I lift the spaghetti to my mouth.

‘How old are you, Yuri?’ I swallow.

‘Nineteen.’ I make the foolish mistake of looking into his eyes, which despite his stoic appearance, are shrouded with kindness, ‘you?’

‘Twenty-two.’

I nod, which in hindsight doesn’t make sense.

‘How old were you when your parents found out?’ Although the question makes me uneasy his voice is still kind, a complete contradiction to how he appears, a complete contradiction to who he is.

‘I was only about seven.’

‘Must’ve been hard.’

 _As if he could know._ I nod. ‘Are you, what happens now?’ I didn’t mean to say that, I was just thinking out loud and he happened to be in hearing distance, I’m not used to being around people, not close enough for them to hear me.

The corners of his lips turn upwards, from amusement presumably. ‘Well, now you’re mine.’

 _I’m not some item, you can’t own me._ It takes everything I have to not roll my eyes, ‘What does that _mean?_ ’ I already know, down deep inside, I know exactly what it means. Maybe talking to him is okay. Neither of us are eating anymore. He’s staring at me and in the moments I have enough balls I make eye contact before quickly looking away.

‘It means, technically, I own you.’ He took a drink then; his Adam’s apple is prominent in his muscular neck.

‘Why did you,’ _pick me? No, save me?_ He definitely did _not_ save me. ‘Why did you keep me? Surely you’ve seen countless men go through.’

He nods, his eyes becoming emotionless once more, his face impossible to read, ‘Yeah, I’ve seen lots of men go through, ever since I was a boy. You reminded me of a friend I used to have, that’s all.’

He looks like he’s thinking about something, unwilling to share, either because I wouldn’t understand or because it pains him to talk about. There is the possibility that it is a combination of these things that is preventing him from elaborating on the topic. I know not to push it, to sit here and let him decide what to talk about. If he wants to talk about anything at all. If not, that’s okay too. I know what will happen to me if I step out of line.

* * *

I look down at the white shirt and black boxers Otabek had given me to change in to. They’re my size, I wonder when they took those measurements. It frightens me to think about what they did to me while I was unconscious. I blacked out on the trip here. It’ll do me good to not think about it. Instead think about the fact that there was only one bed in this room. I do hope to sleep on the bed, but a man may not lie with a man, that is law. I pull on the black boxers over my slim legs. The shirt is a little too baggy, though that’s probably due to my complete lack of any size whatsoever. I turn around, Otabek is in nothing but a pair of dark green boxers, which compliments the tan of his skin perfectly.

He climbs into the bed, ‘Turn off the light before you hop in.’

My heart begins to pound in my chest, I’m frozen to the spot.

‘What’s wrong?’

I stare at the man on the bed.

‘Yuri?’

I think back to my father, _‘Two men cannot share a bed!’_ I remember him throwing me to the floor. I remember…

‘Yuri.’ His voice drew my attention back from my thoughts. ‘Yuri, you really are safe with me, I promise.’

As I take a step towards the bed the memory of my father threatens to re-enter my mind. I shake my head and take another step towards the bed. _‘It’s because you’re like this our family has to live in shame!’_ I’m almost at the bed. _‘People like you aren’t welcome here.’_ My knee brushes against the edge of the bed. People like me. Boys, with boys.

‘Why are we sharing a bed?’ My voice comes out angry and shaky.

‘Hmm?’ He props himself up on one arm looking over at me.

‘We’re both men.’ I grip the hem of the white shirt in my hand.

‘Yeah.’

‘So why, why are we sharing a bed?’ I look down at the bed touching my knee.

‘I wanted to.’ I can hear him shuffling on the bed.

‘Are you like me?’ My eyes snap up to find his already on me.

He shrugs his shoulders.

‘That’s bullshit! Don’t fucking play with me! People like me don’t have homes and family! Don’t,’ why am I panting? ‘Don’t you dare fucking play with me.’

I cover my mouth with one of my hands. I didn’t mean to say that.

‘Sorry.’ He rolls away from me and pulls the blankets up, ‘Sleep wherever you want. Just turn the light off.’

I walk over to the switch on the wall. I think he’s mad. I’m sure I’ll reap the punishments in the morning. I flick the switch making the room dark, the only light coming from the night sky through the blinds in the window. I walk to the couch and lie down. If he really is like me, how could he live _here?_ Even if no one knew about him, how could he watch what happens to people like me? Though I’ve done it too, haven’t I? Watched as people the same as me have been taken away, bashed, all because I was too _afraid_ to do anything. Is _he_ afraid? They tell us it’s survival of the fittest, never adding though, that there is no honour in survival. No honour in desperation or selfishness.


	2. Yuri

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Yuri meets the other house guests, Otabek gets pissy (though not at Yuri.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hola! 
> 
> There's some force feeding and homophobic language in this chapter.  
> It's really hard to stay to characters, but, i'm doing my best.  
> Oh by the way! So much swearing in this fic! Sorryyyy
> 
> Yuri manages to survive his first day in hell!

I hardly got any sleep last night, every time I closed my eyes my mind flashed to my father, or the Order, or to Alarish, or to Otabek in the bed a mere few meters away. I’ve spent many sleepless nights on the street due to fear, at least last night there was a roof over my head. At least I was sleeping on something other than stone, at least it was warm. I hear him stirring in the bed.

‘Yuri?’ His voice draws.

I look over to find him leant against the bed head.

‘You’re awake.’ He stretches his arms upwards as he yawns. ‘How did you sleep?’

I try my hardest to look into his eyes, honest. I shrug my shoulders.

‘Would a bed have been better to sleep on than a couch?’ The corner of his lips curl into a smirk.

I feel the blood rush to my cheeks and shrug my shoulders again.

He rubs the back of his head with his hand, ruffling the small amount of hair he has, ‘You hungry?’

I shrug again.

‘You were so talkative last night, why are you so quiet now?’ I feel my back straighten. Of course he was still mad about last night.

‘I, uh, sorry.’ I look at my hands which are now entwined with one another.

‘So are you hungry?’

_Asshole_ , why doesn’t he just tell me he’s mad, waiting for him to snap is killing me. It’s just like my father used to do after I messed up. He’d wait until I started to believe he wasn’t mad, then. Well.

‘Yuri?’

My father would be part of the Order if he could. Though, when I was younger I believed my father was just afraid of what would happen to him and mother and my younger brother. I never really believed he hated me. Not until he…

‘Yuri.’

I look up at Otabek.

‘What’s wrong?’

‘Hmm?’

‘You’re crying.’

I lift my hand to my face and feel the damp under my eyes. I wipe my eyes on the back of my wrist, ‘Sorry.’

‘Don’t be sorry.’ He’s walking towards me. ‘What’s wrong?’

‘I was just,’ my voice catches in my throat, is it okay for me to be so comfortable with him, ‘thinking about my father, and,’ I’m crying now, like genuine messy crying; desperate, weak, vulnerable, pathetic, ‘Are you mad at me?’

‘What?’

‘Last night I said something and you seemed angry at me, are you angry at me?’

I feel his hand on top of my head, it’s large and gentle and warm, ‘You had the right to be upset, Yuri.’

I lift my face up to look at him. I’m sure I look deplorable, like a small child after a they fall and cry for help.

‘I didn’t really think about all the things you must’ve gone through.’ He looks over to the window, he hasn’t moved his hand, ‘I really don’t want to hurt you.’

Part of me wants to move away from him, away from his touch. But it’s so comforting, so gentle, and warm. And besides, if I do move away, what if he gets mad? He can do whatever he wants to me and I can’t do _anything_ about it.

‘We can have breakfast in here,’ I’m looking at my hands in my lap, I’m not sure it’s safe to look anywhere else. His voice is as warm and gentle as his touch, ‘We could have breakfast in the main dining room if you wanted.’ I feel his hand move from my head, ‘It’s just, you’d have to wear a collar, and, not much else.’ I feel his eyes, big and brown and kind, boring holes into my head, ‘You’d have to sit on the floor, you’d have to refer to me as Master, if you were allowed to speak at all.’ When he speaks about my duties as a pet, his voice waivers, from stoic to shaken. ‘I don’t want to make you do that, here you can just be you, of course, eventually we’ll have to head to the main house. But for now, we can stay here if you’d like. It’s up to you.’

I think it might be safe to look up at him. I’m not sure if it’s the light catching in his eyes, or perhaps he just feels sorry for me, but he seems so gentle. Like the sharpness of his jaw, of his muscles, of his eyes, of him, has blurred the slightest bit. ‘I don’t mind.’ My voice is still so quiet. At least I manage to make it sound slightly angry, though, I know that won’t do me any good, I know that’ll just get me beaten.

He walks over to a cupboard; he grabs out a few things then walks back to me. ‘I’m so _sorry_.’ His voice is so quiet I’m not sure if he intends for me to hear it. He places a small assortment of items in my hands. I swallow hard, knowing exactly what this is.

‘Where do I get changed?’

He gestured behind him, it was a general wave. I think it means he doesn’t care. I walk over to the bed, placing the few items on it. I look over my shoulder; he’s sitting at the table looking away from me. I take off the white shirt, the black shorts, my underwear. I swallow again. My throat feels so damn dry. I feel so fucking vulnerable. I wish I wasn’t so pathetic, wasn’t so afraid. But, I suppose, what can I do? _Fuck_. I pull the black leather booty shorts up. They’re so tight, I feel them clinging to the crevices of the very small amount of my body they actually cover.

‘O-Otabek.’ My voice is so fucking quiet. I’m facing him, but looking at the floor, my hands covering my bulge.

‘Hmm?’ He looks over at me.

‘I, I don’t know…’ He’s walking towards me before I can finish my sentence.

I can feel him standing beside me. His voice is low. ‘I have to touch you to help put it on. Are you okay with that?’

_Why the fuck do my cheeks burn so bad_? I nod.

He’s standing behind me, he takes off one of the items from the bed. Black leather suspenders, almost, with metal rings. ‘I’m going to clip it on now, okay?’

I nod.

I feel the leather stretch from my lower back, it’s held still for a few seconds before it’s gently placed against my back once more. He gently passes the straps over my shoulders. ‘Can you do the front?’

I look at the straps I’m holding in my hands. _Fuck_. I shake my head.

‘You have to turn around.’ I do. He takes the strap from my left hand, he’s looking down at my crotch, I’m looking anywhere else. I feel the material pull away from my skin, I flinch my hips backwards. ‘Are you okay?’

‘S-sorry, I didn’t mean to.’

‘It’s okay.’ He places the material back against my hip. Moving to the other side. At least the suspenders are on now. He grabs the second item from the bed. He holds it out in front of me, allowing me to see the familiar symbol of the order on the collar, inside the symbol are the letters _OA_ , presumably for Otabek Altin. I nod my head. I turn. ‘Can you hold your hair up?’ I gently lift my hair. The leather is cold against my skin. ‘Is it too tight?’ I twist my head around, it rubs against my skin, but it’s gentle. I shake my head. He grabs the last item from the bed.

‘How am I supposed to eat with that?’

He holds the ball in his hand, ‘You don’t have to wear this,’ his voice trembles sometimes, it confuses me, he’s so stoic, untouchable, ‘I just thought it might be more comfortable for you, so that you didn’t have to talk at all.’

I shake my head, ‘Is it okay if I don’t wear it?’

The ball makes a dent in the blanket as it lands back on the bed. I hear footsteps leading away from me towards the door. I turn around, my eyes fixated on the ground. I’m standing beside him as I feel something click on to the collar on the back of my neck. _A leash?_

‘What? Do I have to fucking crawl around as well?’ Shit, another internal thought escaping me. I flinch, my muscles contracting, ready to be hit.

‘Sorry.’ The door opens, Otabek walks out, pulling me behind him. _Wait_. He’s not being rough, he’s not really pulling, just walking in front of me, making it look like he’s pulling me. _What?_ People are staring at him, occasionally he’ll nod his head, but he mostly ignores them. _Did he just?_ If I’m not mistaken, these people are bowing to him? _Apologise?_ I’m becoming so fucking familiar with the sight of the ground.

The more I think about it, the less sense it makes. People like me, we’re ridiculed, kicked out, and beaten. Any man who likes a man has it branded on his body, people avoid us like the plague. This group, this organisation, the Order, they keep the streets clean of people like me, they get rid of us. The Order is against gay people. So, why is it that they have so many _‘slaves?’_ These men, who are meant to hate gays, buy other men to be at their beck and call. The more I think about it, the less sense it makes.

Otabek walks in ahead of me, ‘Morning,’ A silver haired man chirps in a sing song voice. He’s sat beside one of the ends of the table.

‘Viktor.’ Otabek nods. The way he’s speaking, he’s sat at the table. This Viktor man must be another Master. What a fucking disgusting word.

I hadn’t noticed, but as we walk closer I spot a small, black-haired man dressed similar to me. The symbol on his collar has the letters _VN_ imprinted in the centre. He looks up at me smiling. How the fuck can someone smile in a situation like this? I scoff looking away. Across the table is a cocky ass looking prick, he has a similar hair cut to Otabek, but the hair on top of his head is slightly longer, on top and the undercut. He has his feet resting on another chair. He looks up at me and runs his tongue over his bottom lip. I quickly look away. I hear the chair move, I’m sure he’s sitting up from his lax position.

‘Otabek,’ his voice pisses me off, ‘What a pretty little kitten you have with you.’ I glare at him from the side. ‘Ooh, feisty.’ He laughs, his laugh comes from his stomach, it’s menacing.

Otabek nods his head, ‘JJ.’ We walk to the end of the table. Otabek pulls the chair out and sits. I’m sure he’s not at the head of the table, that seat would be reserved purely for the head of house, Alarish. I stand behind him, slightly to the side.

Next to Viktor is sat a man with blonde-dyed hair, his eyelashes are long and eyes green, similar to my own. He’s laughing too, his laugh doesn’t piss me off like that JJ fellows. ‘Otabek, you finally got yourself a toy.’ A toy? I’m not a fucking _toy_.

‘Chris,’ Otabek says with a nod. He’s not very chatty, though, he spoke plenty to me last night, this morning even. Sat on the floor behind the blonde, whose name I now know is Chris, is a boy who looks not much older than Otabek. He has dark skin and scraggly brown hair. He’s dressed the same as me and the man on the floor behind Viktor.

Otabek gestures for me, I walk towards him. He leans up so only I can hear him, ‘Viktor’s…’ He pauses for a second, I’m sure he’s thinking of how to word it. He sighs. ‘Slave’s, I guess, name is also Yuuri.’ I look over at the man with glasses. ‘The one behind Chris is named Phichit.’ He really is talking as though we’re objects.

I open my mouth, about to ask a question. ‘Don’t.’ Otabek’s voice is stern. I close my mouth. ‘Don’t talk so openly around them, not even if they can’t hear. Understand?’ Is this his fucked way of trying to keep me safe or whatever? God this whole situation is bullshit. Of course, I nod. ‘You have to sit on the floor, you can still eat though. Don’t talk.’ He looks at the large wooden doors on the other side of the room as they begin to open, ‘Don’t worry, I’ll protect you.’ With that he gestures for me to sit back on the floor.

Alarish takes his seat, surprisingly there’s no one dressed in skimpy black leather following him. The other _slaves_ haven’t looked up from their laps since he’s entered the room.  I follow their lead, I’m sure there’s a reason they haven’t looked up. I hear footsteps walking around the room, I glance up for a moment, spotting a few ladies and men in the same white button up shirts and black slacks. They’re dropping food to the men at the table. After they go around filling up the cups of all those seated at the table, they file back out of the room. I look over at the other men on the floor, still looking at their laps. Got it, our laps are the most fascinating fucking things in this room.

‘So, my boys, what are your plans for today?’ Alarish’s voice is deep and phlegmy.

_Please don’t grumble_. I make a fist and push it into my stomach. I hold my breath. I don’t want to bring any attention to myself. _Please, Otabek_ , let me eat, just a little, just so it’s quiet.

‘I’m going to go sort out that Skipton punk.’ JJ’s voice is so fucking _annoying_.

‘He still hasn’t payed?’ Chris raises an eyebrow.

JJ shakes his head.

‘How much does he owe you?’ I see the tension leave other Yuuri’s shoulders as he hears Viktor speak. What the fuck?

JJ laughs his disgusting bellow of a laugh, ‘1million USD.’

‘Shit.’ Chris and Viktor say in unison.

‘I trust you’ll get it back.’ Alarish’s voice sounds harsh, almost like a threat, despite the comment itself being one of faith.

I can almost hear a hint of nervousness in JJ’s voice, ‘Of course, Boss.’

‘That’s my boy.’ Again, threatening. ‘And you?’ Alarish points his oversized finger towards the other end of the table, ‘What are you doing today?’

‘Teaching him the rules.’ Otabek says with a nod of his head, gesturing towards me. No, no, Otabek, you dumbass, get the attention elsewhere. Oh god, my stomach.

‘I gave up a good sale for you, Otabek.’ Alarish and JJ have similar laughs. _Disgusting_.

Otabek, grunts? In response to Alarish.

‘He is pretty cute.’ Chris says, he’s shifted back in his chair so he can look at me better. I feel so exposed. So vulnerable. The more I think about it, the less fucking sense it makes. _I’m_ here, on the floor because I’m gay, what makes _them_ different?

‘It’s incredibly improper to make a pass at another man’s slave.’ Otabek’s voice never falters, not that he’s spoken enough for it to since we’ve left the room. I hate being called a slave. My stomach feels like a knot. God. Otabek _. Food_.

I spot the other Yuuri looking at me with such concerned eyes, _asshole_. ‘Perhaps we should allow them their food.’ Viktor says, almost on cue, in reference to the men on the floor.

‘Let the fuckers starve.’ Alarish laughs. Yuuri and Phichit lower their heads. I copy.

‘Father.’ Everyone’s looking towards Otabek, ‘is it not up to us how we treat our slaves?’ The stare happening between father and son is so intense.

A few moments pass before Alarish speaks again, looking away from his son, ‘Don’t go spoiling that little bitch.’ _I’m going to be sick._ ‘Know your place, Otabek.’ Alarish walks over to me, I can feel him standing above me. _Otabek, i'm afraid._ You said you'd protect me. I feel something hot and wet pouring over me, it’s sticky. Oats? That fucker poured oats over me. Fuck it hurts. ‘You want food?’ I clench my fists against my thighs. I feel his hand under my chin pulling my face to look at him. I want to fight, but I can’t. _Otabek_. ‘You hungry?’ He pulls my chin, opening my mouth. First, a banana is shoved down my throat, luckily it’s peeled. Followed by some toast. As my mouth fills he mushes the food into my face. I really wish I wasn’t so desperate for food that I was getting satisfied. As he pushes more food into my mouth I gag. ‘What? The little bitch can’t hold it?’ He leans over the table, picking up a glass. ‘How about some milk to wash it down with?’ My eyes sting. He pushes my head back before walking back to his spot. I gag and cough. ‘Don’t even think about spitting it out.’ I do my best to swallow the food. It hurts. I can feel everyone staring at me. My back is burning from the oats, my eyes from the milk, my throat from the pressure. I try to swallow again. The food is damp and disgusting. _Ota...B-Bek_.

Otabek stands, ‘Father.’ He sounds angry. ‘Don’t you dare touch my slave again.’ _Otabek? Otabek, it hurts._ ‘I know my place, second in charge. I know my place, your fucking son.’ Otabek grabs me by the hand, pulling me up. ‘Don’t touch what doesn’t belong to you, _father_.’

Alarish is laughing his deep disgusting laugh, ‘My Son, how you make me proud.’

I don’t understand, why is he proud, isn't Otabek going against him? I don't understand. Otabek starts pulling me out of the room. ‘Try and hold it in until we get to the bathroom, okay?’ His voice is angry. But, I don’t think he’s mad at me. Otabek pulls me into his room; our room? He locks the door behind us. He throws open the door to the bathroom and begins running the shower. It’s one of those bath showers. He helps me climb in. ‘It’s okay now, Yuri. You can spit it out.’

When did I start crying? I lean my head forward and spit out the remaining food. I throw up. My throat burns, it feels so fucking raw. My eyes still sting. At least my back is burning less, now having cool water running over it. Otabek pulls the suspenders off of my shoulders. ‘It hurts.’

‘I know.’ He’s got a flannel, wiping my eyes. ‘I know it hurts, it’s going to be okay.’ My eyes stop stinging so much. I hear the tap running. Otabek holds a cup in front of my mouth. ‘Try and drink.’ He tilts the cup slightly so water enters my mouth. I swallow a few mouthfuls, some of it comes back up. I drink some more. The burning sensation is going away.

‘Ota... Bek... a.’ I sob. God, so _pathetic_. I feel his fingers running through my long blonde hair. I feel it change from his fingers, to a comb, back to his fingers. My eyes close, the lack of sleep from last night finally settling in. The fatigue tugging at my eyelids. My body sore, weak, drained. My mind not fairing much better. Is this what my life is going to be like from now on?

Perhaps it’s the water pattering against my burning skin, or the way Otabek’s nails gently scrape along my scalp, but I manage to fall asleep.

* * *

Fuck. My head hurts. It's dimly lit in here. Where am I? Am I in a bed? I can feel the weight of blankets on my body. It's warm and cushioned. Yeah, i'm in a bed. I push myself up against the headrest. I look around the room, allowing my eyes to adjust. Otabek's room. I'm so warm. When did I change into this? Oh god. 

'Yuri?' He sticks his head out of the bathroom. 'Yuri, i'm glad you're awake.' I hate how calm his voice makes me feel. 

I hate that he lessens the pain in my head by raking his fingers through my hair. I hate that I feel safe. I hate that i'm in different clothes and there's no way I changed myself. I hate how embarrassed I am. I hate that he's not even saying anything. I hate everything. I wish I was stronger, strong enough to not find comfort in his gentle touch. 

'How are you feeling?' His voice is so gentle, at least, to me. His voice earlier, to Alarish, was, cold. Frightening.

I open my mouth to speak before I realise how much my throat is burning. I hold it with my hand, because that's going to fucking help. The mattress dips as Otabek sits beside me, passing me a bottle off of the dresser. I take a mouthful. It's soothing. Whatever the hell it is. I should really learn not to take things from strangers. Though, in the desperate state i'm in, i'm not sure it can do much harm. I wish I could claim this burning sensation in my throat to be a new one. I've thrown up many times. This is the first time anyone's ever forced food down my throat before. Every other time i've thrown up it's been a part of my father's - therapy he called it. I remember...

'You don't have to talk.' My eyes refocus on Otabek, I wonder how long i've been looking to some place far away.

I nod.

'How bad does it hurt?'

I hold up seven fingers. The higher numbers, eight, nine, and ten, are reserved for far worse situations. For pain almost unbearable. This, this was no different than pouring peroxide on a wound, apart from it being inside of my throat. Eight, for the first time my father beat me. After the first time I was capable of zoning out, I was so used to it. That was until... Nine, the first time my father allowed his friends to join in. They all had their favourite moves, some liked kicking, some hitting. There was this one and he always... Ten, therapy. My father's therapy was always so, painful...

'Hey, Yuri, can I ask you something?'

I blink a few times refocusing on Otabek. I nod. But... I point to my throat.

He walks over to the kitchen area, I hear him shuffling through some drawers. The mattress dips once more. He passes me a yellow lined note pad and black pen. 'You can write your answers.'

I nod. So. Obedient. Fuck.

'I'd like if you could tell me what you think about when your mind wanders.' He goes quiet for a moment. 'I know that life hasn't been easy to you, and I just, want to know as much about you as I can so I don't accidentally hurt you or anything.'

He confuses me. Speaking so comfortably like he's known me his entire life. _**'It's going to take me a long time to write.'**  _ My hands are a bit shaky, it's been a while.

'Well, how about I show you around a bit and then you can write it while you eat dinner. I figured we'd eat in here tonight.'

**_'Is it safe?'_ **

'Only masters are allowed in the slaves quarters.'

**_'Slaves quarters?'_   **Fucking. _Gross_.

'Yeah, the slaves spend time there if their masters are busy or whatever. You can be yourself there without having to be afraid.'

**_'Will you tell me about the friend I remind you of?'_ **

Now it's his turn to look far away, like his mind has wandered despite his eyes being settled on me. I tug on his shirt, i'm not sure if that's okay.

'Uh, yeah, sorry.' He's walking towards the door. 'I'll tell you about him eventually.' He's got the collar in his hand, 'Pick something from the cupboard and throw it on.'

I nod.

* * *

For scum - according to Alarish - this is a rather nice area. There's couches, shelves of books, a TV, a gaming console. A fluffy white rug is in the centre of the circle of couches, a small wooden coffee table on top of it. The door gets locked behind us as we walk in. I recognise these men, Phichit, and the other Yuuri. They're sat beside each other on one of the leather couches.

'Ah, Otabek.' Yuuri smiles. He smiles a lot. So does the silver haired Viktor, his master. His voice is a lot more confident than I expected to be. These two men seem so comfortable right now. Laughing and smiling, even in the presence of the son of Alarish. What the hell is going on?

'Yuuri.' Otabek _smiles?_ He nods to the other man, 'Phichit.'

Phichit's smile is the widest grin of all, 'You've brought the new boy to meet us!'

I glare at him.

'Yeah, I wanted to introduce him, could you guys give him the run down on how everything works?'

'Of course.' Yuuri's eyes gleam from behind his glasses.

'His throats a bit sore still, he can't really talk at the moment.' Yuuri and Phichit look away from me. _Tsch_. 'I've brought this so he can write in response.' Otabek hands me the yellow pad and black pen. 'I have to go sort some stuff. I'll be back later.' I look at Otabek with a bit too much desperation in my eyes. _You promised you'd protect me._ I feel so much safer with him by my side. 'It's okay, you'll be safe here. I think Chris and Viktor will be here soon too.' _Is that supposed to comfort me?_ 'Don't worry, Yura.' _Yura?_ 'They're nice, I promise, no one will hurt you. Just stay in this room and you'll be safe.' I sigh. There's nothing I can do. I slump on the sofa chair beside the couch the two men are sat at. Otabek locks the door behind him as he leaves. Phichit walks up to the door and slides another lock shut, one that can't be opened with a key from the outside.

'So, Yuri, is it okay if we call you Yurio, just so we don't get confused.' Phichit beams. I glare at him, though, there's no point in arguing, I can already tell. I sigh and nod my head. 'Well, Yurio, my name's Phichit Chulanont, I've been here for four years, since I was twenty.' I roll my eyes. It's not like I want his bloody life story. Though, he seems so happy. They both do, so different from earlier. 'That's Yuuri Katsuki,' Phichit gestures to the man beside him, 'He's been here for ten years, since he was eighteen. How old are you?'

_**'Nineteen.**_ '

'So, the rules are pretty simple.' Phichit continues, 'we have to call the other men Master, but only when we're in the main part of the house or around other house guests. We also have to dress in particular attire.' I look down at my clothes, then over to the other men's. I hadn't noticed, but they're both wearing sweat shirts. I have goose bumps on my arms.

'Ah, speaking of.' Yuuri jumps up from the couch, running to a cupboard. 'What size are you?'

I walk over beside him. Most of these are plain coloured, there's one leopard print zip up hoodie. I unzip it and check the tag, small. I pull it on then walk back over to the couch, sitting down and zipping up the jumper.

Yuuri and Phichit smile at me. 'Do you feel better?' Yuuri asks, he kind of reminds me of a mother. Kind of reminds me of my mother. She'd always comfort me after my father was done. She was always so concerned about me. I nod.

'Never address Alarish, directly or not. And, stay clear of that JJ fellow, he's trouble.' Phichit concludes. There are so many questions going through my mind, I don't know where to start.

'Yurio,' Yuuri's voice seems so sad when he says my name. 'Life isn't perfect here.' _No shit._ 'Chris, Viktor and Otabek look after us, they do. But.' 

'There's only so much they can do for us, you see, they live here under Alarish. He's the head of the house. They can't go against him.' Phichit has his hand on Yuuri's shoulder.

'Earlier, when Otabek tried to help you.' Yuuri's voice is cracking.

Why's he so upset? Oh, no, no way. I didn't even think. **_'Did something happen to you two after Otabek took me away?'_** I turn the page so they can see. Phichit's gaze wanders off to some corner of the room, Yuuri's doesn't move from the ground. No way. I didn't even think. I was so _selfish_. If I was stronger, god dammit. ** _'I'm sorry.'_** I tap the table regaining their attention to show them my handwriting.

Yuuri's hands fly up as he shakes his head, 'Don't be sorry, it's not your fault. No, don't be sorry. And it wasn't that bad really. It was nothing compared to what he did to you, we were mostly just worried about you.' Verbal diarrhoea, is he a nervous person?

Phichit poked Yuuri in the cheek, pressing into one of his dimples. They're laughing again. I don't understand. These men, they're so confusing. They got hurt because of me yet they're not mad at me. They're trying to make me feel welcome. And I'm sitting here watching them, and it's so natural for them, here in this house full of people who hate us. They seem so happy. I wonder if they are happy. I wonder if their comfort is genuine. How could anyone be comfortable when living in fear? Unless they're not afraid. But, his voice, the way they avert their gaze, they _are_ afraid. _Everyone_ in this house is afraid. Viktor, and Chris, Yuuri, and Phichit. Otabek? Even JJ spoke in fear earlier. The kitchen staff, the foot soldiers. They're all afraid. Perhaps this is not an organisation built from respect, perhaps, maybe everyone's just too scared to change. The Order has been around for hundreds of years. The Order hasn't changed in centuries. Maybe everyone's just _afraid_.

* * *

'How was your day?' Otabek's cooking something, it smells good. Not that I can eat at the moment.

**_'Did you know they got hurt after you took me away? Next time, just let me take it. I don't want to see them hurt.'_** I begin writing. **_'Viktor and Chris came after a few hours, they just sat and spoke. They tried talking to me but I didn't want to talk. I was tired.'_**

'Probably from sleeping on the coach,' Otabek's voice was playful from over my shoulder. I glare at him.

**_'They gave me some hard candies to suck on to help with my throat pain. It was nice.'_ **

'Yuri, when will you write for me? About what you're always thinking?'

I feel my back straighten and my grip on the pen strengthen. He has been nothing but kind to me, but kindness is easy to fake over a short period of time, and it's only been a day. It's true I don't feel afraid of him, it's true my heart feels settled by his side, but i'm sure that's due to a combination of desperation and exhaustion. Is it safe for me to tell him the truth? Is it safe for me to tall him everything? _Do I have a choice?_  

'Yuri?' His voice draws me back again. 'Yura, are you okay?' _Yura?_

I nod. Of course I don't have a choice. 'I'll write it for you after you've gone to bed. You can read it in the morning.'

I feel his hand on my head. I'm not sure whether i'm fighting myself to move away or stay connected. My internal battle is cut short as Otabek moves away to attend to the kitchen. He called me Yura again. That's the second time. I'll ask him about it later. Or tomorrow. Right now i'm just going to enjoy this calm, nice, silence.

* * *

'Goodnight, Yura. Turn off the lamp when you go to bed. You can have the bed tonight.'

I look over at Otabek, a question in my eyes I hope he understands.

'I have a spare mattress resting against the wall outside, i'll sleep on that.' Another question burning in my eyes. 'You need it tonight, after this morning.'

I nod. Arguing is pointless. There's _nothing_ I can do.

The only light in the room is from the warm yellow lamp on the desk. I pick up my pen and begin writing. I'll leave it on the table for him to read when he wakes up. If he has any questions, he can ask. It's not like i'll be going anywhere.

 

 


	3. Yuri

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dear Otabek,  
> From Yuri (Yura?)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Depictions of past Abuse  
> Depictions of rape (brief)  
> Depictions of violence

 

> ~~To Otabek~~ ,
> 
> ~~For Otabek,~~
> 
> ~~Please Read,~~
> 
> ~~About my thoughts.~~

Oh for fucks sake.

 

> Dear Otabek,
> 
> You wanted to know what I think when my mind wanders. Eight, nine, ten. Fear. It's not thinking, more, remembering. Remembering things i'd like very much to forget. Remembering how my life was when I was a small child. Remembering how my life was growing up. I remember so many things, all of the time. I'd like to stop remembering. There are some memories that aren't bad. I like when I remember my mother, Yuuri made me think of her yesterday. I like remembering my grandfather. I like remembering my pet cats. It's not like i've never been loved, it's not like my life has been a constant misery. Even when I was homeless there'd be moments of happiness. So, don't feel sorry for me. Got it, asshole. I don't want, or need, your pity. I'm sure if I left my letter at this you'd be incredibly dissatisfied, I know it's my duty to satisfy you. I know what happens if I don't.
> 
> When I was seven years old I told my mother I loved my friend. She was so happy for me. 'Bring them over for lunch, Kitten.'
> 
> 'Aye Mama.' I was so excited. 'Can we have Dedushka's pirozhki?'
> 
> 'Of course, Kitten.' My mother was such a beautiful lady. She had blonde hair reaching even the lowest parts of her back and beautiful jade eyes. Her teeth were straight and white. She was tall and slender. Graceful. Like a ballerina. Like an angel from one of those stain glass, mosaic church windows. My mother was more beautiful than anyone you could imagine. And she was kind, gentle. 'Papa!' I chirped as my father entered the room, 'Papa! I love my friend! And Mama said they can come for lunch!'
> 
> 'That's good my gem.' He smiled at me so tenderly.
> 
> The day came and I brought my friend home for lunch. 'Mama! Papa! Dedushka! This is my friend, Alexander!' I didn't know what it meant back then. I didn't understand anything. I was seven years old.
> 
> My father did nothing until my friend went home. He said nothing to me. It was late at night, I had spotted a light on in the kitchen. I could hear urgent hushed voices. I was a child, and thus I was curious. I stood outside the lit room and listened.
> 
> 'He's not like the other kids.' My father would tell my mama.
> 
> 'But he's our son.' She'd sound so _desperate_.
> 
> 'We have a duty.'
> 
> 'To who?' She'd sob.
> 
> 'To our lord.'
> 
> 'What about our duty as parents? Our duty to protect our son?'
> 
> 'If things were _different._ ' And then my father would pause, like his voice was caught in his throat, If _he_ were different. If he could _just change_.'
> 
> I cried that night, my mother came to my room to hush me. I didn't understand then, that she was afraid of what he'd do if he heard his son cry. She'd flatten the hair on top of my head and plant gentle kisses on my temple. She'd tell me I didn't need to change, she told me I wasn't the one who needed to change, the world was. I didn't understand anything. Though, I knew I wasn't to see Alexander again. I knew I was different. I just didn't understand _how_.
> 
> At the age of fourteen my father caught me lying in bed with another teen boy. 'Two men cannot share a bed!' He'd yelled. I remember him throwing me to the floor. I remember the other boy running out of the room as my father's foot impacted my ribs. 'It's because you're like this our family has to live in shame!' His voice was so full of hatred. 'People like you aren't welcome here!' I was so confused what he meant, people like me? It took me a while to realise he meant boys who like boys. His foot hit my side over and over, the more numb I became, the more painful the impacts. He left the room after a while. He left me there, curled in on myself, holding my ribs. I'm sure they were broken. Bruises forming on my side. I've always been small and frail, I began coughing up blood. My mama and dedushka took me to the hospital. They lied, they told the nurse I was mugged. I thought it was for my father's protection, I realise now it was for my own. I thought they were guarding the man who had hurt me. I hated them for it. You asked how much pain I was in earlier and I held up seven fingers. That first beating was worth eight fingers.
> 
> My Dedushka passed about six months after my father's first beating. The beatings became more regular. I learnt how to zone out. His beatings weren't really painful after that. I became acquainted with a numbness that overwhelmed my body. A numbness that i'm sure saved my sanity. I regret it now, not talking to my Dedushka those six months. But I was clueless and blamed him for being beaten. For not protecting me and getting me help. If I was stronger, I could've fought back, I could've gotten away.
> 
> On my fifteenth birthday my father told me he had a gift for me. I hadn't received a gift from my father since I was seven years old. I was a mix of anxiety, excitement and fear. I walked into my room expecting, I don't know, something, to find four grown men standing there with unkind smiles. My heart dropped to my stomach. 
> 
> 'You haven't learnt your lesson yet, Yuri. I've brought along some friends to help.' My dad's voice was the same as your dad's; phlegmy.
> 
> He was never trying to help.
> 
> 'You like men so much,' he pushed me to the floor, 'I brought you some to play with.' Kicking was definitely my dad's favourite thing to do.
> 
> It was more painful than the first time my father had decided to beat me, when these men were around, my pain levels reached a nine. They all had their favoured moves. Like I said, kicking was my dads. He'd kick me over and over, always in the side. There was another man who licked punching, one man would hold me up allowing the first man access to my sensitive stomach. There was this one and he always - he was the worst by far - tore me apart. He tore me apart, he made me vomit, and if I did, I had to clean it up, by eating it. And all of these other men, and my father, they'd watch and laugh. My mother became to afraid to take me to hospital. I was excluded from school due to my tremendous amount of absences. Sometimes I wished one of them would accidentally kick me in the head, or one too many times, and i'd die. I never did though.
> 
> The worst pain i've ever experienced in my life, and the only situation deserving of a ten, was what my father called therapy. I can only remember parts of it. In a way, i'm lucky I was kicked out of home. At least then the therapy stopped.

Oh fuck. I'm crying. I wipe my eyes on the back of my wrists. _Don't let it get to you._

> There was a clinic, a small lab like place a half hour drive from town, that my father took me to once a week. He had decided that beating me wasn't working, that letting his fucking friends rape me wasn't making me less gay, so he took me to this clinic. Two men, large and muscular, came and dragged sixteen year old Yuri Plisetsky into the lab, using leather straps to secure me to a fucking operating table. A rolled bandage was placed in my mouth, a headphone like contraption on my head. I heard the doctor speaking. And then. Fire. My body burning, convulsing without any ability to be controlled. My jaw clenched shut and my body thrust upwards. I felt it over and over, my body being struck by lightning, the thunderous whirring of the machines. 
> 
> My father would always tell me, 'As soon as you change your ways, this all stops. Please son.'
> 
> I was always a bit out of it after my therapy sessions. Sometimes the sessions would be so bad I wouldn't be able to talk for days. They continued until I was old enough to be evicted. For the first few months on the streets my brain wasn't completely there. If it weren't for the few kind people who stopped and spoke to me, if the other homeless men hadn't have dragged me to their sanction, I would have died. 

I feel hot. I look over at Otabek, his chest rising and falling slowly calms me a bit. I want him to rake my hair. _No_.

> So Otabek, you ask where my mind goes when I'm thinking, it always goes back. I always remember. And i'm so scared. But god, i'd never admit that to you out loud. If I as stronger Otabek, none of this would have happened. But i'm not fucking stronger. I'm hardly strong at all. I relied on people who had nothing, I let men fuck me, well eventually I let them before that they just took it, I'm a fucking wreck and i'd be better off dead. But, i'm not dead, i'm still alive, dressing in skimpy black leather being force fed because that's what I have to do to survive, and there's no fucking honour in survival.
> 
> From...

I said I was going to ask him about what he calls me, but. Maybe, maybe if I sign it? Perhaps. Why am I shaking? _Help me. Otabek, you said you'd protect me_. 

> Yuri (Yura?)
> 
> * * *

The light from the window pries my eyes open, I smell toast. I sit up.

'Yuri?' _Shit_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm really sorry this has taken so long to post. I've been having some family problems, but it's okay now. Well, it will be okay. Hope you all enjoy it, sorry it's short.


	4. Yuri

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Otabek reacts to Yuri's letter.

The moment after you awake is always a slight bit foggy, it's in these moments we have the tendency to forget where we are and what situations we're in. These were the few moments I found comfort in during my teen years, during my time of homelessness. But now, living under a roof where there is always potential danger, under a roof where there is always an expectation, I cannot afford to forget where I am. Not even for a moment. There's a light shining down on me from the window, reminding me i'm inside. I swallow, feeling a subtle pain in my throat, bringing me out of my hazed state. It is not until I hear his voice, however, that I am fully aware of where I am.

'Yuri?' _Shit_. 'You're awake.'

I nod, unsure of whether or not i'm capable of speech with the current condition of my throat.

His voice holds more emotion in it than it ever has before, 'I'm sorry.'

I look over to him, to the yellow paper rolled tightly in his hand, crumpling under his grip. He must have read it. I shrug my shoulders. I'm fairly sure I wrote in there that I don't want his pity.

'Yuri, I had no idea.'

Every time I swallow the pain in my throat alleviates, even the slightest amount. I point to a glass on the table. Otabek brings it to me. I hadn't considered this an invitation for him to sit beside me on the bed, but that's how he'd taken it. I can feel warmth radiating from him. He's clutching to the letter as though it's a life line, as though if he lets it go the world will end. I'm sure i'll be able to manage some words soon enough.

'I'll bring a doctor to see you.'

I assumed he'd be pressing me for answers. I was sure he'd push me until I broke, needing so desperately for his comfort, for his saviour. But he hasn't. He's not asked me at all, he's not pushed me even the slightest. 

'I have work to do today.' _I wonder what his work is?_ 'But, i'll arrange for a doctor to come this afternoon, to the slave's quarters. You can spend the day there, try to relax.' _I can be myself there._ 'Phichit and Chris have gone out, but Yuuri will be there.' Otabek's grip lessens a little bit, 'Is it okay if he reads this?'

I nod. I'm not sure what my face looks like. I can't really feel anything, i just feel empty, distant.

* * *

 

He reminds me so much of my mother. The way he looks at me with such sad eyes, almost begging for my forgiveness because he can't help me. The way I can hear his heart beat when he holds me against his chest. The way he flattens the hair on top of my head, that familiar pressure of his chin on the flattened hair. His kind, gentle, caring ways, remind me so very much of my mother.

'Oh, Yurio, i'm so sorry.' His voice is reassuring, I feel safe in his arms. I think i'm going to cry. 'Yurio, Yurio it's okay.' I feel the tears welling in my eyes and dampening both my face and Yuuri's shirt. 'Have you spoken to him?' I know who he means without him even saying his name. I lean back, wiping my eyes with the back of my sleeve and shake my head. 'I'm sure he has lots to say, words of kindness, and-'

'I don't want his pity, or yours.' I cut him off, my throat still aches but not so much that I am unable to speak. 'I only wrote it because he asked, I only told him because I can't say no.' _Because I am afraid_.

'He told me a doctor will be coming this afternoon to see you?' 

I nod.

'Will you be okay with the doctor touching you?'

I hadn't even thought about it, about having another man touch me. I mean, the only times I've been touched since my father and his friends was in this house, both the harsh touch of Alarish and the gentle touch of Yuuri and Otabek. 'Did Otabek say what kind of check up it will be?' I have been so fixated on my lap these past few days, it seems to be the safest place.

'I think after reading your letter he just wants to make sure your body is okay.' His voice is so gentle yet so monotone it pisses me off.

'What's that mean though?' I look over at Yuuri, I didn't think it would panic me this much, 'I haven't been to a doctors in years.'

'Well,' Yurri relaxes his shoulders, 'I had a very similar check up when I first got here. I was terrified of being touched and hurt, but Viktor was with me the entire time which really helped me relax.'

'Yuuri,' god he's so annoying, 'you're rambling.'

'Oh, right, sorry.' He chuckles. 'the doctor will take your blood for testing, as well as some swabs, he's going to feel around your body as well, and perhaps the inside. The doctor's going to check for any possible illness or injury he can find.' Yuuri looks me in the eyes much more serious than he had been, 'Viktor was by my side to make me feel safe and protect me, and i'm sure if you'd like, Otabek will do the same for you, you just have to ask.'

I don't say anything. I just look at Yuuri for a moment, the sincerity in his eyes and voice makes me trust him more than i'm comfortable with. No one that is so comfortable around Alarish's men can really be safe, though aren't I comfortable around Alarish's son, surely that's worse? I get lost in thought looking at Yuuri, who i'm sure is anticipating an answer to what he has said, when the door opens behind me. Yuuri jumps from the couch and runs to the door, he flops himself in the arms of Viktor who is smiling down at him.

After a shared moment between the master and slave, _disgusting_ , Yuuri turns his attention back to me, 'would you be okay with Viktor reading your letter?' I am too tired to argue, or scowl, so I shrug my shoulders and watch as Yuuri hands the letter over. 'Otabek requested he write it and has since organised for Yurio to be seen by a doctor.'

Viktor nods without saying anything, which as far as I can tell is uncommon for the mouthy silver haired man, and proceeds to a desk on the far side of the room.

Yuuri sits beside me once more, 'so,' he picks up the game controllers and extends one towards me, 'would you like Otabek to come to your appointment?' 

I look to the television holding the controller in my hand watching as the man beside me clicks through the various games. I feel relaxed, a part of me even feels a bit content, like this isn't so bad, like I could be comfortable living here. There are worse ways to survive. I don't say anything to him as we begin the game. My competitivity that has remained dormant during my time on the streets begins to show as he beats me over and over. Every time I get more riled up and he lets out an even louder laugh. I lean up on the balls of my feet and swing the controller as though it will assist with the  movement of my character, despite knowing that's not how games work. 

'Yurio,' Viktor's voice sounds more serious than usual and breaks both Yuuri's and my own concentration as we look over to him, 'did Otabek tell you where he was going today?'

'Um,' I'm not sure why I feel so uneasy right now, his gaze isn't harsh, he seems far more concerned, 'he said he had work to do today.'

Viktor runs his hands through his hair and looks down at the ground. Yuuri is looking at him with concern filled eyes, 'Viktor.' His voice is so soft.

'That idiot.' Viktor sighs. He looks back up at me, directly into my eyes, then directs his attention to Yuuri, 'You know I have to go find him now.'

Yuuri nods.

'Wait, why?' This room is so filled with concern from these two men who have seemed nothing but relaxed and comfortable that it begins to affect me. 'Why do you have to go find Otabek?' Viktor doesn't look at me. Yuuri offers me a smile but I've seen enough of his stupid goofy smile to know this one isn't sincere. 'What's going on?' I know there's an urgency in my voice I wish I could conceal, but I don't know how, I feel so desperate and helpless. _What's wrong with him?_  

Viktor stands up, his chair scraping on the ground making the only noise in the room. He drops the note beside me on the couch as he heads for the door. Before I am even able to open the note I hear the door shut and see Yuuri locking it from the inside. The letter is crumpled, I smooth it out. Down the bottom there is writing in someone else's handwriting, that wasn't part of my letter. I read it. I look over to Yuuri, 'why didn't you say anything?' 

'I figured you knew.' 

'If I knew I wouldn't have let him go.' The words on the page are reeling in my mind, 'that's not what I want him to do.'

'Otabek isn't the same as Viktor and the rest.' Yuuri looked towards the door, 'he has so much more power. And although he often seems like he is isn't phased by the things happening around here, it gets to him the most.' Yuuri takes a deep breath and looks back at me, 'Otabek despises his father and the order and everything it stands for. I can't tell you too much because it's not my story to tell, but Otabek had a friend a lot like you once upon a time. He always felt like he couldn't protect his friend, so now he's protecting you in every way he knows how, with the entire force of the Order behind him.' 

I don't know what to say. I just look at Yuuri who is looking back at me with an expression I can't even begin to understand. It's as though he's looking at me with pity but the pity is not for me, like I am merely a means for the pity to be conveyed through. I lift my legs up onto the couch and lie down. I close my eyes still holding the crumpled piece of yellow paper, how could that idiot possibly think that's what I wanted. I only told him because he wanted to know and I was too afraid to defy him. I wish I had have. I wish I had have kept the details of my existence to myself. If i'd known this is what he was going to do I never would have told him. I hope Viktor finds him before he finds them. As much as I hate what those men did to me I do not hate those men, one of them is still providing my mama and younger sibling with a roof over their head. I hope Viktor finds Otabek before he takes away from my family. I feel so tired, my thoughts always ramble and drift when i'm tired. I hope Viktor finds Ota, I hope he finds him, Ota-bek. I hope he's safe, that idiot Ota-bek-a. 

_**'I am so sorry Yura, that you have not been protected, that I did not protect you. But I will protect you from here. Those men will never harm you again, i'll be sure of it. Any man who felt the right to harm you will perish, I promise. Love, Beka.'** _

* * *

I am awoken by a rush of people entering the slaves quarters. _When did I get so comfortable with calling it that_? My eyes are blurry from my short rest, it takes a few blinks for my sight to clarify and for me to see who is in the room. Yuuri is standing beside the door watching Viktor, who has pinned Otabek up against a wall. Phichit is kneeling beside Yuuri and Chris is leaning in front of the door, which has since been closed and locked behind him. I sit up, i'm so confused. 

'Let me go.' Otabek pushes against Viktor.

Viktor smiles his fake polite smile, 'Sorry, but I can't do that.' 

'Let go of me you asshole.' Otabek has completely lost his composure. 'Get your hands off me.'

Chris laughs as he flicks his hair back, 'It's like you two are trying to turn me on.' _Gross_.

'I'm serious Viktor, let go of me.' Viktor shakes his head. Otabek shoves Viktor with more strength than he had been and Viktor loses his grip and tumbles back. 'Don't fucking touch me.' His voice is frightening, this is not the man who I've known. But this man seems more familiar. This scowl, the look of determination and anger, I know this man. 

I finally move off of the couch and walk towards him like i'm in some kind of trance. This face, these eyes, I know them. I reach out, unintentionally, not even knowing that i'm doing it. My mouth speaks before my mind can catch up, 'It's okay, Beka.' His attention turns to me and his gaze softens. I shake my head, feeling dazed. 'What the fuck is going on?' I say in the snarky tone I've been trying so hard to conceal.

Viktor is on the ground holding his hands in defeat laughing gently, 'Sorry, sorry, Otabek, we just really had to bring you back after that little note you wrote.'

I look at the paper in my hand, 'all of this is over my stupid letter?' I scoff and throw the letter towards the bin. I miss. _Pathetic_. I look at Otabek, then walk back to the couch. I shouldn't have said anything he sure is going to be mad now.

Yuuri sits beside me and whispers in my ear, 'are you going to ask him to stay with you during your appointment?' I can hear his stupid smirk. I shove him from beside me. 

Everyone's uncomfortably quiet and I sure as hell aren't going to be the one to break the silence. All of these grown ass men acting like little boys fighting over dumb shit like a letter. I really wish I never wrote it. My life is a constant problem for every fucker involved. I don't know why Otabek picked me but I sure bet he's regretting it.

'Your appointment is soon. Once it's done one of the other Masters will escort you back to my room.' He always interrupts my trains of thought. I thought he would stay with me though. I just keep looking at the blank Tv in front of me. I can see his reflection in the black screen. I listen to him walk away, then I listen to the door shut behind him.

Viktor goes to say something to me but Yuuri shakes his head, which Viktor takes as his cue to remain silent. I can't understand them two, isn't Yuuri meant to be the slave, so why is it that Viktor is always the one complying to Yuuri's wishes. They make no fucking sense. I feel extra pissed today, i'm not sure why. Maybe I am scared, of the doctor, of having his hands, in and on and around me. Having some random man touching me, my body struggles to tell the difference between the touch of kindness and the touch of hatred. I can feel my heart racing like it's going to beat right out of my chest, I don't want this, I don't want this, _I do not want this_. I can't breathe, god has this room always been this fucking small? And why is everyones eyes on me? Fuck off, just everyone go away, I don't want any of you here. I want him. _I do not want this_. After years of living on the streets and being beaten and starved and fearing for my life I wouldn't think that a simple doctors appointment would be the thing to throw me into a spiral.

'Yurio.' I hear Viktor's voice but it's a blur. I feel my eyelids and body getting heavy, its like i'm burning up all of the energy in my body and my body is crashing. 

* * *

I wake up in this room far more often than I'd like. _Why am I so weak?_ I want to be stronger.

'How are you feeling?' He's sitting on the couch not facing me.

'Fine.' I take a swallow of water and notice the burn that had been in my throat is alleviated.

'You had to be sedated.' I don't know what to say to him. 'You had the others scared half to death,' he turns the television off, 'and me.'

'Sorry.' _Why do I feel like there's a knot at the base of my throat_?

'Don't be.' He stands from the couch and begins walking over to me, 'I should be sorry. Viktor and Yuuri gave me a very stern talking to. I didn't even consider how everything would make you feel. I'm sorry.' He's standing beside the bed like he's too afraid to get on it. 'I shouldn't have left you alone. Not after reading the letter, not after I promised to protect you.' 

I shrug my shoulders and look away. He's still not sitting. _Idiot._

'I got so angry. Reading what they did to you. No one should have to go through that.' I can't look at him, I don't want to cry. 'I didn't even think about how you haven't been able to see your family, and I was so willing to go and ruin their lives, like it's so easy for me. I never considered you once.' I hear him scoff. 'Even when i'm trying to protect you I fuck up and leave you more hurt than you were before.'

I know if I look at him i'll cry. But part of me, for some reason, wants him to know i'm not mad. I move over on the bed, he finally sits.

'Yuuri told me that you kept calling for someone while you were sedated.' Otabek laughs a little, 'Beka, you kept saying it over and over.' He places his oversized gentle hand on my head, 'I'm sorry.'

I shrug my shoulders. I can't stop the stupid tears from falling. I flop onto the bed and cover my face with the blanket.

'Why don't you talk to me?' I feel him lie beside me. My cheeks feel like they're about to alight, 'I want to hear what you have to say.'

'I don't have anything to say.' I grumble through the blanket and my tear sopped cheeks.

He laughs again, 'By the way, why did you start calling me Beka?'

I roll over, still covered by the blanket, 'I didn't mean to.'

'No, it's okay.' He gets off of the bed and begins walking away, 'it's just, an old friend of mine is the only other person who's ever called me Beka.' I hear his voice fading. 

I peer out the top of the blankets and watch while he brushes his hair out of his eyes and begins to cook. He hasn't made me eat in the main room since the altercation with Alarish. I think he's scared for me. I wish he didn't have to be. I wish I was stronger. I feel drained all of the time. Perhaps it's because for the first time in a very long time I can finally sleep, I am warm, and relatively safe, and so very comfortable. 

* * *

**_'Beka,' I call out and run towards the boy a few years older than me._ **

**_He turns back and smiles at me, 'come on Yura.'_ **

**_He kneels down and opens up his arms. I run and jump into his arms, he catches and spins me around as I call his name, 'Beka.'_ **

**_'Don't worry, Yura, I'll always protect you.' He looks at me so gently, unlike the way he looks at the boys who pick on me at school. The way he looks at them is so anger fuelled, it's so scary. His gaze is gentle only for me._ **

**_'I love you, Beka.' I lean my head against his shoulder and close my eyes._ **

**_'I love you too, Yura.'  I feel a gentle kiss on my forehead._ **

**_Suddenly it's cold, very cold, and I open my eyes. My arms are no longer wrapped around the gentle friend, instead I am in the arms of a strange man who is taking off my clothes. 'Beka,' I call. 'Beka, Beka, Beka...'_ **

* * *

****'Beka, Beka, Beka...'

 

* * *

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know it's been a very long time and I am very sorry, but life got very intense and I gave up on lots of things I loved, including writing. I am back now, and hopefully for good. I'm a little rusty so please forgive me, I hope you like this chapter!  
> \- PenGirl

**Author's Note:**

> Hey guys!
> 
> Check out my tumblr (tho it's actual a side blog) for updates and stuff!   
> https://pengirltumbles.tumblr.com/


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